


deep conversations are spoken in tongues by sunlight

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i tried and therefore no one should criticize me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday present for <a href="http://buckybuns.tumblr.com/">Mae</a>! I'm so sorry I'm so rusty, but I hope I came through with the post-TWS vaguely domestic fluff /o\</p><p>Title comes from Adam Pascal's "I'm With You".</p>
            </blockquote>





	deep conversations are spoken in tongues by sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nescienx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nescienx/gifts).



Convincing him to come home wasn't easy.

The risks were high, the variables were innumerable, and he still isn't quite convinced of the idea of _home_ in the sense Steve is. He hasn't known a home in almost seventy years.

He's clawing piecemeal memories back inch by inch. It's frustrating at the best of times, and agony at the worst, almost a year later. Sometimes, it's like waking up and having to pull your way through mist and fog for hours until your surroundings make sense. Other times, he snaps awake just as hard and abruptly as he ever did in the field; one hand (the metal hand, the one he still doesn't trust quite yet) already halfway under his pillow for the knife always stashed there. And sometimes, it's neither, and he's just left with this vague sense of disquiet for the duration of the day.

Steve mentions Sam Wilson's name a few times, along with PTSD and counseling for veterans. Bucky vetoes the idea every time it comes up. No point in giving everyone down at the VA a look at how much worse off they could be. Not to mention, he's nowhere near ready to talk about it. It's still too big, too vast. There's horror, guilt, shock, all twined up together in the face of this sixty-year span of a killing field of HYDRA's own making. He can sleep through the night sometimes, and he's not attacking Steve when he wakes up anymore. All in all, he counts it a small victory amongst many.

Steve.

 _Steve_.

The one constant. The one light at the end of the tunnel. He'd call Steve his north star, if he was inclined towards anything like poetry.

One word was all it took to put a crack all that ice locked around his head. Just one word. _Bucky?_.

He dreams about it sometimes. Dreams about that day on the bridge. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Steve's face since his plunge into an icy ravine in the German mountains, but it was the first time _he_ , not the Winter Soldier, had seen it. And that makes all the difference.

"Hey."

Bucky frowns, then shifts a little on his back, dragging his right hand over his face to dislodge the hair that usually ends up strewn across it.

"Rise and shine, Buck."

"Oh fuck off, sunshine. Some of us actually _enjoy_ our beauty sleep, y'know?"

Bucky exhales a throaty groan, stretching both arms above his head, curling flesh and titanium alloy fingers around the headboard and getting a solid enough grip to bow his spine up a little before slowly opening his eyes.

And there, lo and behold, is one of the sights he is _never_ going to get tired of: Steve Rogers, shirtless and clad in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, perched on the edge of their shared bed, grinning at him like a complete idiot.

There's an answering smile working its way across his own lips as Steve reaches out, smoothing errant locks of dark hair behind his ears. He doesn't startle anymore, when Steve reaches towards him like that. Things are improving. And if he can put a smile like that on Steve's face by just waking up in the morning, then he'll do it forever, far as he's concerned.

"So, did you make me some food?" Bucky raises his eyebrows and feigns glancing around to either side of Steve from where he's still relaxing against the pillows. "I don't see any food, Captain Rogers."

Steve laughs, warm, rich and fond, and _christ_ if he hasn't missed that sound. (Even without remembering he had anything to miss at all.)

"Thought we could maybe work up a bit of an appetite," Steve pushes himself a little closer along the sheets, leaning down to put their mouths in close proximity. "I promise I'll make you bacon and eggs, after."

Bucky hums contemplatively, pulling an exaggeratedly concentrated expression as he waits for Steve to get impatient. It doesn't happen. _He_ gets impatient. He's leaning up and kissing Steve almost before he realizes what he's doing. Ah well. He can't think of anyone who wouldn't slip up at least _a little_ if they got to trade places with him for a bit.

He licks between Steve's lips a bit, then exhales a satisfied sort of noise as they gradually pull apart. Well, if that wasn't some worthwhile enticement for putting breakfast off for a bit.

"C'mere, soldier."

His expression turns a little calculating and Bucky reaches out with his left hand, curling metal fingers over the elastic of Steve's waistband and giving him enough of a tug that he overbalances a bit, almost into his lap.

"Sir, yes, sir," Steve replies, a little breathless, a lot pleased.

Yeah. 

Bucky could _definitely_ get used to this.


End file.
